Love is Blind
by Aku No Kokoro
Summary: For the poor souls of Lordran, there is little to cling to in order to keep their sanity. Love is one such joy to be used as a distraction, but it may also prove to be a vice. Especially for those who are Embraced.


Love is Blind

He kneels before the altar. He is not used to kneeling. Instead, he shows his devotion through action and sacrifice, but not prayer. Still, he didn't have many options. He lays the Fire Keeper's soul gently on the cloth, as centered as he could make it, and thinks of Fina. Thinks of her voice again, for he is forgetting it since the last time he heard from her. He does not pray long before a strong grip on his right arm yanks him. His free arm reaches for his shotel, but never reaches, as that arm too is restrained by a bony hold. He struggles, but is powerless. These were merely the common hollow – weak, and yet he could not break free. Unbeknownst to him, a 6-Eyed Channeler dances on the floor above, directing the mindless undead. Lautrec doesn't stop struggling until they lock him behind a metal door. The undead with the key wanders out of reach to who-the-hell-knows-where, and The Embraced can do nothing more than squat in his cell and think.

To be fair, the wait isn't too long. He hears footsteps in the distance, the smashing of wooden planks, and a figure with a semblance of life in its eyes. Most importantly though, is the key dangling from the creature's waist.

"Oh, still human are you? Then I am in luck. Could you help me? As you can see I am stuck, without recourse."

The figure seems intrigued, but suspicious. Intelligent enough to question why someone would need to be caged, at least. A bit of deceit would have to be used here.

"Please, I have duties to fulfil, and I will reward you handsomely. Well? I am certain you stand to benefit."

After several moments of pondering, The Undead finally decided to free him. The hinges squealed in protest, but that was no matter. Lautrec stood, enjoying free movement again. Turning towards this undead who would unbeknown to both, was going to become something special, The Gilded Knight only said

"Thank you, yes, sincerely. I am Knight Lautrec of Carim. I truly appreciate this, and I guarantee a reward, only later."

The undead nods once, and leaves the way it came. In truth, Lautrec had no reward, but he would figure something out. First things first:

"I am free. Now I can get back to work." And with that, he snickers to himself. Though he does not get to laugh for long.

"Curses!" He shouts into the empty church. The offering he had worked so hard to obtain was stolen. Perhaps his captors had taken it, or perhaps some undead came along and couldn't resist the free prize. At any rate, he had no idea what took it, which trail to hunt down, or how far they had gone. The prized soul was as good as lost. All he could do now was head back to Firelink Shrine and think of a new plan.

He finds a nice spot with his back to a hazardous cliff edge and no sign of attacks from behind, a vision of all three entry points, left, right, and above, and best of all, a front row view of his next target.

He's learned that she's had her tongue cut out, for some reason or other, which means that no one will hear her scream. Undead never visit her either, only making use of her bonfire and going about their un-merry way. Indeed, she was isolated, her only defense being her own caution, and the rusted bars. She is wary of all in the area, for any undead, hollow or otherwise would be tempted by her powerful soul. For the next few hours, Lautrec does nothing but observe.

_That_ undead comes by again, with a wrinkled look of expectation. Lautrec knows exactly what it wants.

"Ah hello. I have your reward. Please accept it. I am grateful to you for freeing me." And The Embraced drops a shiny trinket into The Undead's palm, and he laughs as though he was merely joking. The Undead is not amused.

"Not enough for you?" Asks the Gilded Knight. "Well, let's not be greedy now." And he laughs again, as The Undead can do nothing but shuffle away onto its next destination.

Lautrec sleeps. Or rather, he adjusts his body to imply that he sleeps. His shoulders slump, his head rests back a little, his arms cross over his chest, and he slows his breathing. The Fire Keeper relaxes as Lautrec rests, but really he uses this time to observe her in her natural state. She does not do much, as there is not much for her to do. Lautrec is an observant man though. He makes note of the little things she does, even if it may be useless information. Someday it may turn out not to be.

In moments of boredom, she scrapes the bars of her cage with her nails. Perhaps this is a futile movement towards eventually wearing down her cell and escaping. Often she tries to sleep, but for some reason or other, fails, and if she does manage to sleep, she only earns meager minutes. Her eyes are always rimmed with the abyss because of this. She tries to rub dirt and grime from her face, but because her hands too are stained, she only serves to smear it. She traces figures in the dirt, but with no twigs or charcoal, her art is never permanent. Lastly, when she believes he is awake, she bows her head and sits still in a figure of misery.

He takes his helmet off one day. It's on a day where the Chosen Undead is off gallivanting and/or dying as per usual, and the sun is particularly hot and grossly incandescent. He sweats under his brow, causing the damp, stray stands stick to his forehead and tickle his face. It irritates him. As much as he wants to rip off his helm, he remembers his company, and remembers to play docile. So slowly, he removes it, letting fresher air hit his face. He sweeps a gauntleted hand over his face to pry the clinging strands from his cheeks. Lautrec takes the chance to glance at the mute, and notices a new expression that he hadn't observed before.

What was it? Something of astonishment? Of curiosity? Of being smitten? At any rate, she averts her gaze towards the floor once he catches her. She seemed to hold interest in him, if nothing else. Perhaps his gruff face and long hair tickled her fancy.

"Interesting." He thinks. He can work with this.

He thinks her a fool, for forming an attachment to him out of nothing, simply because he is the thing she sees the most. He thinks her a fool for clinging on this to try and add something more to her pitiful life – as this is merely nothing without a trace of romance. He thinks her a fool, and to make use of his, he approaches her one day, speaking the first word of many.

"Hello." He says, trying to erase all wickedness from his voice. Her frame seems inclined towards interested submission, all but her eyes which still contain caution. Those eyes seemed much older than her fair skin would suggest. They are tired pupils, nervous and alarmed, and knowing of the world and its cruelty, as well as its dangers. Perhaps she is not completely a fool. Nonetheless, she nods in acknowledgement to his greeting.

"I've noticed you seem restless. Would you like to hear some of my tales?"

And though her eyes remain alert still, she figures there is no harm in a few stories. She nods once, only once.

"Excellent." His hands move to either side of his helm, and he lifts it off with ease letting his locks fall. He attempts to smile sweetly. Upon seeing his face, her lips- and only her lips soften. The expression he observed before makes a return, and now that he is closer, it is unmistakably the beginnings of some form of attraction. If anyone knows love, it would be Lautrec. He begins with the story of the Belltower Gargoyles. He tells her of their incredible strength, and large stone wings. He tells her of how he almost perished to flames, and just when he thought he was safe, another swooped down and nearly ripped him to shreds. He did not look at her as he spun his silver tongue, and when he finally did, he saw that she was in a peaceful rest, with the beginnings of a soft smile, though not quite, forming upon her face.

The next morning she awakes from slumber. A full night's rest is not something she is used to, and she is worried that it may have been a dream, along with the man who lulled her to sleep. Her eyes crack open to find that both were reality. The knight from Carim sat with his helmet on, but closer than usual, where he was last night. She believes him to be asleep, which only makes her jump when his sinister voice calls

"Awake, are we?" She does not answer, as he won't see her answer with his back turned. Rest may have been welcome, but the position she did it in was neither comfortable nor dignified. Her face had been buried in the dirt, her thin arms poor excuses for pillows, and muck clung onto the front of her already filthy robes. She sits up to her usual condition, and rings her fingers around her neck in an attempt to rub away the pains. Despite the physical bothers though, her mind feels lighter than it has been in years.

During all this, Lautrec fetches a pail from the Burg, and fills it with water. He hears strange noises beneath the pond, but pays it no mind. The water seems safe enough regardless. He makes it back before she even realizes he was gone. He drops the bucket in front of her, and the sound knocks her out of her ponderings. Her gaze is questioning, until she follows his gaze onto her stained clothing. She understands, and hesitantly dips her fingers into the water. It is not often that she sticks her hands out of the cage. Danger could be anywhere, and when her fingertips touch the surface, she yanks them back, mouthing a yelp. The water's chill seems to bite her – a sensation forgotten - but eventually she submerges her hands and gets to cleaning herself.

The following night, he tells her another story, but before that she reaches through the bars once again, and lets her fingers linger on his forearm for just a second before retracting them. He understands this as a gesture of thanks, and continues on with his tale. This time, he tells her of the Gaping Dragon, and while it wasn't particularly challenging, he puts detail into each tooth of its horrid appearance. She has seen too much to be frightened, but listens to his voice regardless. It soothes her, even when it sounds dishonest. Her eyes begin to drift close, and she awakes the next morning to find him gone, but with another pail of water by her cell.

When he was not by her side, he was off exploring this god-forsaken land. There were many things to search for, one of which was currently locked in his sights. A Fire Keeper, trapped behind corroding bars and heavily guarded to his dismay, but not to his worry. From a point hidden from the line of fire of the Blowdart Snipers, he chucks a throwing knife. It sails through the air and strikes true, and the frail Keeper crumples and dies. The main problem was picking up the spoils.

On the top level, there was a firing team of poison shooters, ever ready to give him a slow death. Below them still a pack of ankle-biting Flaming Attack Dogs. They gazed longingly up at him, daring him to descend. His shotel were not equipped to deal with the pack of them, and before that, he still had to contend with the snipers. Lautrec saw no easy path before him, begrudgingly decided to leave the soul for now. The Firekeeper was a ways off from the main path, with some luck, no one will discover his prize, and he can come back and claim it better armed.

He returns to her by evening, and she is noticeably cleaner. With the grime mostly gone, he can see that she is pretty, with golden hair, shining skin, and slender arms. He thinks nothing of it. Before he begins to tell his stories, she grips his shoulder and brings his attention to something on the ground: Carved letters, sloppily done, only somewhat legible, and upside down to him. It takes him a moment to cypher it, but he says it aloud when he does.

"Anastacia." She responds by pointing a finger at herself.

"Your name?" She nods. "I see."

And he laughs, this time without a trace of something sinister. "Well Anastacia, it is a pleasure." She nods again, and they fall into newly formed habits. Tonight, he tells her of the Goddess Fina, and how she told him the location of his armor and ring bearing her love. It's the highest spirits she's ever seen him in, and the mood is slightly infectious. Above, invisible to all the Firelink Shrine Bonfire glows just a bit brighter.

He checks on his prize, just to make sure it is still there. It is not. Lautrec's knuckles squeeze the hilt of his wicked blades. The knight is furious.

He returns to Firelink Shrine with liar's smiles as usual. He finds her in some sort of pain, her expression seems forlorn. The man kneels down to her level, and when she registers his presence, she only looks straight past him, then slowly shakes her head. Whatever it is that pains her, she will not tell him. Lautrec reaches for a clasp at his waist, and removes a small flask.

"Perhaps it will ease your suffering." She sees the bottle, and knows what it is. Her pale fingers carefully wrap around the bottles waist, and she brings the its glass lip to her smooth ones. The liquid that runs down her throat is burning, though not unpleasant – It feels like life. In the aftermath however, she finds that she feels no better. Of course not, it was likely filled from the flames of her own fire. The thought is still kind though. When shhe moves to return the flask, her eyes widen at how close Lautrec is to the bars. His bare face show some sort of worry and want, and moves closer.

She is hypnotized, and finds herself returning the action. Closer and closer she gets to him. She is so hypnotized that she does not notice the curved blade force itself into her abdomen. She snaps out of her dream and peers down. There is blood. So much blood. It runs down her stomach and spills all over her skirt. Her eyes flicker upwards at him, and the last thing Lautrec sees in those eyes are betrayal, a deep sadness, and then they are blank.

Lautrec kneels and retrieves his flask and her soul from the corpse. Interestingly, it still pulses warmth in his hands, where the other one had had was dead cold. The only reason he put off killing her for so long was because her bonfire was the most useful to him. He would've put it off for longer, but two souls had already been taken away, and desperate times called for desperate measures. Other than that, he had no reason to keep her alive, of that he swears.

Sen's Fortress nearly ended his life on several occasions. If it were not the serpents twice his size and surrounding him, it was the perilous traps that littered the stronghold. In every turn where he should have died by all means however, Lautrec would find newfound strength, followed by a comforting heat in his bosom. For every victory, he would thank Fina in his mind, but his gratitude was wrongly given.

The glint of the grand Anor Londo resembles that of his own armor, but Lautrec cares not for such pity observations. All he can observe is the multitude of danger, and the lack of his goddess. Which each step he takes, his frustration grows – It has been so long since he last heard Fina speak to her. Where had she gone? At any rate, Lautrec knew he would be of no use to her dead, so he summons two phantoms from another world near yet far. He scoffs at the concept of it. Humans helping other humans merely to gain Humanity. What was so humane about using others?

The three proceed until Lautrec feels a chill. He knows the sensation well, as many are after his life. When one summons a phantom, they may feel something like soothing waves wash over their body. And an undead is invaded by another, they feel ripples lash against their mark, such is the effect of one being plunging into the stream of another's world. Lautrec knows the sensation indeed, being on both ends of attacks from the other-worldly. The Gilded Knight turns to face his attacker, the Chosen Undead, standing as wordless as ever.

"Well, look at you! I thought you were wiser, but I was wrong. Like a moth flittering towards a flame. You fellows? No? Don't you agree?" Lautrec taunts,

As the two summons by his side rush at The Undead. Despite his boast, The Undead manages to duck under the spells and evade the spearman, and with experienced finesse, runs a longsword straight through the sorcerer. Realizing his folly in underestimating this warrior, Lautrec too joins the fray. Together they force The Undead to raise his shield and Lautrec seizes the moment and snakes his blade around The Chosen Undead's defenses. He vanishes into mist, and that is that.

Victory in hand, Lautrec gives an affirming nod to his ally, and the two move on. Lautrec only manages a few steps until the ripple flows over his chest again, and turning around he sees The Chosen Undead is back.

Despite the situation, Lautrec still keeps a façade of control.

"So here we go again! How many times will these lambs rush to slaughter?" He scoffs out. "Well, let's get this over with."

The spearman charges ahead without thinking, and upon reaching The Chosen Undead, thrusts his spear with all of his strength. The Undead calmly sidesteps and grips the spearman's shaft, then using it as an anchor, whips his sword towards the spearman's neck. The cut is clean, the spearman's head goes flies off, and his body fades away before it hits the ground. This warrior has seen much more than Lautrec has. It has battled its way to the Bells of Awakening, through Sen's Fortress without a Fire Keeper's blessing, through Anor Londo without assistance, and still finds time to aid his friends where they need him. This Undead found two Fire Keeper's souls just lying around and would soon acquire a third, as if it was fate that it should have them. This undead has died over and over and adapted to circumstance and opposition to make it this far.

This Undead has no Gods on his side, and still manages to surpass The Knight of Carim. The Chosen Undead raises his shield, and Lautrec again snakes his curved blade over the side. This was expected, and with sudden strength, The Chosen Undead bashes the blade away. Lautrec's arm is thrown to the side, and his torso is impaled straight through. When the longsword is yanked out, Lautrec goes tumbling along with it. He falls to the ground. The Chosen Undead snatches the Fire Keeper's Soul from him once again, and fades back to his own world.

As soon as the soul leaves his possession, Lautrec feels so cold. He lies on his hands and knees alone. The Embraced coughs out blood. The scent of iron plagues the inside of his helmet, and he rips it off and throws it far away. Red stains his lips, his eyes are rimmed by death, and slowly he pushes himself off the ground and moves on. There is a great fog before him, but he can do nothing more but push on.

As soon as he steps through, a lithe figure dashes towards him. The Knight groggily dodges to the left and tumbles to the ground. The Dragonslayer Spear swoops down in an attempt to pin him to the floor, but Lautrec barely dodges by ungracefully rolling. Clutching his wound, he stumbles behind a pillar for brief respite. A rumbling is heard, and when he cocks his head to the source, a great hammer swings upward, sending him meters into the air.

While airborne, it feels as though time has stopped, and then he plummets and it feels as though time is flying all around him. He lands on the upper level with the sensation of every bone breaking, every organ failing. He rises as best as he can and crawls to the closest wall. When he reaches it, he rests the back of his head against it for support. This is a familiar position for him. It reminds him of something…something…

Something _warm_. He can't quite place it, but he thinks he may have been happy the last time he sat like this. The Knight of Carim raises a weak arm towards the heavens, and his quivering lips murmur out a name  
"_F- ina_." "Where are you?" "Why have you _forsaken_ me?"

He wants her to reappear before him one last time to say that she loves him. To know that she meant it all those years ago. To know that she was not lying, no – She was too perfect to lie. But here he is, dying in a desolate city, three offerings for her stolen away all three times, no calling from her in years. In this situation, Lautrec can only face facts, and at the end of his life, he realizes that he was doing nothing at all with it. He realizes that she never loved him, that no one had – and yet he can't seem to truly believe that. Though his vision grows blacker around the edges, he sees with more clarity than before. Yes, someone did love him, and he killed her.

And with his last breaths, he thinks of that Fire Keeper, that Anastacia. And he thinks that perhaps, truly, somewhere, he may have lo-

No. It was too late to think of such things now.

These are the last thoughts of The "Embraced".

"There are no happy endings in Lordran." – VaatiVidya

A/N: For inspiration, I blame the ask blogs on Tumblr: Ask-the-Ash-Maiden and Golden-Bound.


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